


The Voice

by thebirdlady



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Implied Femslash, M/M, Male Slash, Varric never knew he had a voice!kink, When rogues make bets with rogues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 11:08:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15169409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebirdlady/pseuds/thebirdlady
Summary: Varric had begun to notice a positive correlation between the sexual explicitness of the stories he told and Hawke’s eagerness to take him to bed afterward.Being a seasoned storyteller, Varric is certain he wouldn't succumb to Hawke's charms so easily, if their roles were reversed. In fact, he's willing to bet on it.





	The Voice

**Author's Note:**

> When I learned that the voice of Hawke, Nicholas Boulton, narrates audio books, I was thrilled.  
> When I learned that he reads regency romances that are surprisingly explicit, I was beyond thrilled.  
> When I learned that he reads explicit gay fiction...well, it took days to return me from the puddle of bliss into which I had dissolved. 
> 
> Whenever I listen to these books, I love to imagine that Hawke is reading smut to me, slash even. So I thought, Varric might love that too--even more so than he ever imagined. And in my opinion Varric deserves all the love. Especially Garrett Hawke's. Do you hear me, Bioware?
> 
> I wrote this for the Multifandom Summer Smutfest 2018. Please go and check out all the awesome smut in that collection. :)  
> Prompts used: 24) Tongue, 90) Foreplay (kind of), 103) Muffled Groan, 113) Shivers Down His/Her Spine
> 
> Please remember: Comments are love <3

“Aveline arched under the warm, experienced fingers that traveled down her naked back. She shouldn’t like this so much, she told herself, shouldn’t even have risen to the taunt in the first place, but, Maker’s Breath, Isabella was good. The voluptuous pirate knew exactly how to get under her skin. And as much as Aveline hated to admit it, it seemed that Isabella had been right all along: it had only been a matter of time until she finally got into Aveline’s pants, as well. 

She thought about the pieces of her freshly polished armor strewn carelessly on the floor where Isabella had dropped them, but a brush of dark hair and a puff of hot breath on her already over-heated skin made her shiver and her thoughts scattered like…”

Hawke’s rich baritone carried on, but Varric was finding it harder and harder to concentrate on the words as other parts of him were growing harder as well. Surreptitiously, he shifted his lower body under the thin sheets he shared with Hawke and quickly shot a narrow-eyed glance at his lover’s face. There wasn’t so much as a twitch there, not a hitch in the smooth rumble of his voice, but Varric could have sworn that the amber eyes behind those too-fucking-adorable reading glasses were twinkling a little more merrily than they had before. 

Varric forced himself to stop squirming, mentally sending a sharp reprimand to his cock, which was straining toward the delicious heat of another body only a few inches away. Why had he ever thought this was a good idea? Varric closed his eyes for a moment, but the reprieve from the sight of the half-naked and far-too-gorgeous-for-his-own-good Champion of Kirkwall, sitting propped up against the headrest of his bed didn’t last nearly long enough to get his urges back under control. 

Paper rustled against paper as Hawke was turning a page and Varric didn’t even have to see the long, callused fingers to have his skin tingle with their half-imagined, half-remembered touch. 

And still the liquid-honey voice went on, describing in luscious detail the thorough seduction of one guard captain by a very determined and mischievous pirate. Details that weremostly lost on Varric, unable as they were to penetrate the veil of lust that shrouded him, like a physical thing, blocking everything from his senses, except for that wicked voice and the enticing promise of firm muscle rippling under warm skin and white teeth flashing through a black beard in a heart-clenching grin. To his chagrin Varric realized that he was panting slightly. He had to clutch the sheets, hard, to keep his fingers from reaching out. It would be so easy. Hawke was so close, and…oh. Hawke was also subtly shifting his hips as he re-settled the book in his lap. Or, to be precise, slightly above his lap. As if he were trying to conceal something. Or maybe seeking relieve from a certain pressure?

The image that sprang into Varric’s mind sent a thrill through the dwarf, so powerful that he almost lost the precious grip on his control right then and there. He could see it so clearly in his mind’s eye: Hawke’s cock filling out, rising and stiffening as he was reading words that Varric had written. Maybe Hawke’s cock was already weeping a little and the moisture was seeping through the thin sheet and onto the leather cover of the book he was holding. Varric’s book. Not since he had refrained from killing his treacherous brother had Varric needed the kind of willpower it now took him not to jump Hawke’s bones at that very moment. Instead, he tightened his grip on the sheets and gritted his teeth until the tendons in his knuckles and jaws creaked. Concentrate, he told him self. Concentrate on the story, the familiar words of his latest erotic fiction. 

It had all started as a bit of a joke, this friend-fiction business, a welcome exercise to stretch his writer’s fingers. He had been pleased when he found out that his little made-up stories amused Hawke. And since Varric loved very few things in life better than to make Hawke laugh, he had written more and more outlandish stories about their friends in the most ridiculous combinations. (At one point he’d even tried his hand at a Fenris/Anders fiction, but in the end had to agree with Hawke that that was just too ludicrous). 

As his writing grew bolder, he had begun to notice a positive correlation between the sexual explicitness of the stories he told and Hawke’s eagerness to take him to bed afterward. Not one to complain about such a happy turn of events, Varric nonetheless couldn’t refrain from teasing Hawke about his lack of restraint. Which had led to some bickering, which turned into wild kissing followed by sex, followed by more bickering and finally Hawke’s challenge, which in turn had led to Varric’s current predicament. 

In the small part of his brain that wasn’t overcome with lust, Varric alternated between cursing Hawke’s sneakiness and his own stupidity. How had he not seen this coming? If anyone knew that the Champion of Kirkwall was a man of many hidden talents, it would be Varric. He had been present for Hawke’s unlikely rise from rags to riches and even the rise of Hawke’s heart (and dick) to Varric’s own charms. And of course he’d known that Hawke had a pleasant voice. He’d seen him using it to great effect on plenty of people. What he had not suspected, however, was that Hawke would have a natural narrator’s voice. Rich, warm and sensuous, it seemed to reach out to Varric both figuratively and literally. What made it worse was that it obviously was a precision instrument wielded by a virtuoso. Depending on how Hawke willed it, Varric felt hugged by a warm blanket, lifted high and free into the sky, cold and shivering with anticipation—or absolutely, incredibly aroused. 

Hawke had barely read the first paragraph of ‘GuARRRRd Captain Ahoy’ when Varric realized that he had been played like a nug-wrangler fresh out of Orzammar. He cringed as he remembered how Hawke had somehow goaded him into a bet that he, Varric, storyteller par excellence, would not be so easy to get excited if someone read an erotic story to him. Least of all if he had written the story himself. Especially if the someone who read it was Hawke, who, despite the impressive library that had come with his estate, Varric had never even seen holding a book for longer than it took to sell it. Not even if Hawke was in bed while reading it. Naked. Ha, not even if both of them were naked in bed while Hawke was reading an erotic story that Varric himself had written! There was no way that Varric would lose that bet. And even on the off-chance that he did get aroused, perhaps, a little bit, maybe, he was absolutely certain that Hawke with his off-the-charts libido and his wandering hands would be the first to succumb. 

And thus, the bet was on. 

And thus, Varric found himself losing. Spectacularly.

It was hard to believe, but even he, younger son by profession and string-puller by choice, had, after years of getting through the most unlikely of scrapes, often enough by the skin of their teeth and a few off-kilter jokes, had finally underestimated Hawke. Had underestimated the effect those stupid reading glasses would have on his heart. Had underestimated the effect that Hawke’s nimble fingers touching the leather binding of his book would have on his skin. And had seriously, fatally underestimated the effect that Hawke’s rich, intimate, honey-grumble voice would have on every other part of him. It pouring into his ears, over the tiny hairs on his arms and neck, filling his chest with affection, his cock with blood and his mind with want, want, want!

Really, he’d never even had a chance.

Before he knew it, Varric’s body was already moving. There was a sharp pain in his hip followed by the clatter of a book tumbling to the ground, but none of this mattered as he clambered into Hawke’s lap. His hands found taut muscles under silky, warm skin and his tongue plunged into wet, welcoming heat. Unfortunately, that stopped the voice for a little while, but the strong fingers that dragged him closer until his cock was pressed hard against a second hot length more than made up for it. Sucking on the dexterous tongue that had wrapped around his own, Varric rotated his hips, grinding deliciously against Hawke, and was rewarded with a muffled groan that helped to restore at least some of his pride. 

“Varric,” Hawke broke their kiss and began to nibble on Varric’s neck, his hands roaming up and down his back until they found his buttocks and squeezed. “Varric,” he said again, his narrator’s voice having taken on a breathless quality. Something inside Varric shifted. 

“Fuck me, Hawke.” The words had slipped out, before he could stop them. Now, his heart was hammering hard in his chest and under his hands and thighs he could feel Hawke tensing. So he took a deep breath and, meeting his lover’s eyes, repeated more firmly, “Hawke, I want you to fuck me. I want you inside me.”

It wasn’t that they had never done this before. It was just that usually Varric preferred to top, was actually more than a little partial to feeling engulfed in Hawke’s tight heat, and since Hawke’s preference was best described as ‘yes!’ it all worked out pretty well. Occasionally, however, Varric wanted something else. The first time had been after the Deep Roads and again after they had found Bartrand, or what was left of him. Nor did it always start with an event of that magnitude. It could hit him out of nowhere. Sometimes all it took was Hawke looking at him a certain way, and Varric’s heart would fill to the point of bursting. It was wonderful and terrifying thing, Varric found, the sheer amount of feelings he had for just one man. And there would be that yearning inside him, an empty space that needed, no, that demanded filling. There was a certain kind of power in taking somebody into your body, of creating a place for them to be. He knew that to be true whenever he buried himself deeply in Hawke’s body. Sometimes he just needed to know that he could give that to Hawke, as well.

“Okay.” Hawke’s hands chased a shiver down Varric’s spine. His voice was running like rough silk over Varric’s senses, just as palpable as the scrape of his beard against the soft skin of Varric’s throat. “I’ll take you any way you want, my friend.” Butterfly kisses rained down on Varric’s bare shoulder, his ear, his temple, his lips. Rocking his hips against Hawke’s solid bulk he rose to his knees, using this unusually high vantage, to plunge his tongue down and into Hawke’s mouth, deeply satisfied by the dark groan this elicited. He would have nibbled and sucked for a while longer, but he was already too worked up, his cock straining and leaking, and so he held himself up by Hawke’s shoulders, breaking their kiss only to steal another quick brush of lips, before he said. “Like this. I want you like this.”

He was willing to forgive Hawke’s smirk only because his lover had the presence of mind to immediately reach for a vial of the lube that Anders was happily providing them with. 

The next few minutes were a jumble of kisses, caresses and low moans, as Hawke gently probed Varric’s entrance first with one, then two of his long, nimble fingers. By the time he finally (finally!) inserted a third digit Varric was close to weeping with frustration, his poor neglected cock leaking precum in commiseration. But Hawke would not be rushed. He might be rash in other situations, and Maker knew Hawke was rash in plenty of other situations. Especially those that involved pointy weapons, horridly large spiders or, of course, dragons. But he would not rush things in bed and risk any harm to his dwarven lover—no matter how far beyond caring the dwarf in question was by that point. 

Finally, Varric’s patience was at an end. He blindly groped for the lube, poured a generous amount into his hand and reached behind him where he found Hawke’s cock already standing to attention. It took a bit of awkward twisting, but he managed to reach around far enough to slather the lube all over it. He gave the flushed head a final, friendly squeeze that drew a satisfyingly helpless groan out of Hawke, then wrapped his arms around his lover’s neck again. “Now, Hawke.”

Yes, Hawke was a considerate lover, but he was also a man of action. The last word had hardly left Varric’s mouth when he felt his butt lifted slightly and Hawke’s hot, hard and haphazardly lubed-up cock pressing against his entrance. Hawke’s lips found his for one sweet kiss that ended in a shared groan as he gently lowed Varric onto his shaft.

It was larger than Varric remembered, the pressure as his muscle gave way just shy of too much. His forehead had dropped into the crook of Hawke’s neck and he felt himself break out in sweat, his upper thighs trembling with the strain of holding his weight. But then Hawke’s hands were back, supporting him, propping him up to take the burden from his leg muscles. Breath that had felt hot a moment ago was now cool against his brow. 

“Varric, are you okay?” 

That voice. That damned voice, Varric thought, even as excitement rekindled in tiny sparks under his skin. He could hear the restrained lust in that voice, held under tight control by Hawke’s concern for Varric’s comfort and it was enough to make his chest feel too tight for his heart and his lungs. Maker’s balls, that voice.

“Keep talking,” he muttered and willed his muscles to relax. “Just, keep talking.”

And Hawke complied. Lowering his head to Varric’s ear, he began to tell him his own version of an erotic story, a story that heavily featured a beardless dwarf with golden chest-hair, a thick cock and a sweet, sweet ass, as well as a handsome human rogue who worshiped him with his heart and his mouth and his tongue and his hands and his cock in all the ways he knew his golden dwarf loved. Hawke’s descriptions became ever more graphic and Varric let the sensual rumble of his voice wash over him, relishing in how it caressed and aroused him until every cell in his body seemed charged with electricity. Drowning himself in Hawke’s sound and smell and touch, he gradually dropped lower and lower, until he felt his balls pressing into the surprisingly soft dark hair that covered Hawke’s groin. 

Varric took a moment to catch his breath. He was filled, stretched and stuffed almost to the limit, with Hawke. Hawke’s voice. Hawke’s cock. And Hawke’s limitless affection. It was almost too much to bear. Almost. Because this was Hawke, and even though Varric had always shied away from the L-word, he knew enough to realize that Hawke was special. Hawke was...everything.

“You’re thinking too much,” Hawke said fondly, but before Varric could think of a reply, a large hand had snaked into the narrow space between their bodies and wrapped itself around Varric’s cock. He clenched his ass automatically, and was rewarded with a low, appreciative groan. Encouraged, he lifted his body little bit. As he felt Hawke move inside him, rubbing along his inner walls, Varric quickly decided that if burying his dick inside Hawke was the most perfect feeling ever, holding Hawke inside him was at least a close second. He lowered himself again, and again Hawke groaned, his fingers now digging into Varric’s butt as if he was desperately holding on to control. But Varric didn’t want control anymore. He rose again, just a little bit, then he sought out Hawke’s gaze. His lover looked flushed and a little dazed, and Varric now noticed that in between groans he was still talking, though his topic had been reduced to a combination of ‘Varric’, ‘yes’, and ‘fuck’ along the way. 

Varric kissed him, hard. “Fuck me, Hawke.” 

Hawke’s hip snapped upward, and they both sighed in unison as Hawk drove himself even deeper than before. 

“Yes,” Varric murmured, wrapping his arms securely around Hawke’s neck, “fuck, yes. Do that again.”

Very soon the last bit of discomfort was gone as Hawke found a rhythm, his cock sliding into and out of Varric in smooth strong movements. Varric shifted his weight a little and on the next upward thrust such intense pleasure shot through him that he forgot to breathe for a moment. Hawke’s cock had found his prostate. And of course, now Hawke made sure to hit it again with every stroke. With their bodies pressed so closely together, there wasn’t much to be done about Varric’s cock and that was quickly becoming a problem. His balls felt like they were about to burst, his cock was leaking copiously, he desperately needed to come. But the pressure just wasn’t enough. 

“Hawke,” Varric panted, “I need— ah, Hawke, touch—.”

Hawke’s hips stopped their movement and his hands curled around Varric’s sides, pushing him down, until he was seated deeply in Hawke’s lap, the man’s cock now buried inside him to the hilt. Dark hair clung to Hawke’s sweaty brow and his amber eyes had grown dark, the pupils blown wide with arousal. 

“Show me, Varric,” the Voice growled, making Varric’s cock jerk. “Show me how you come for me.”

Varric didn’t even think about arguing. Held safely in Hawke’s grip, he leaned back far enough to allow his cock to spring free. Under any other circumstances he would have teased Hawke, flashed him a seductive grin, perhaps, but tonight the time for coyness was long past. He couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted to come so badly. Quickly and purposefully he took his cock in his hand and began to stroke himself. If possible, Hawke’s gaze, riveted to the dusky head appearing and disappearing in Varric's fist, darkened even further. His lips parted. His hips twitched. It was just a tiny movement, but the added pressure was too much for Varric’s already over-sensitive nerves. From one moment to the next his balls drew tight, the pressure behind them grew impossibly stronger. And still his release wouldn’t come, still the pressure was building. He whimpered. And then the Voice was there.

“Varric”. 

Like lava that had seethed and simmered under the surface finally erupting through cracks in the stone, hot, blissful release burst through and out of him. He was faintly aware of a deep, drawn-out groan, and he had now way to tell if it was his own or Hawke’s, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered right now, but the wonderful lightness in his head, the delicious fullness of his ass and the scratchy crush of lips against his own. Without ceremony, he felt himself being repositioned and then the hot shaft was pumping into him again, ten, twelve times, before it ended on one final, deep thrust and Hawke shuddering in his arms. Varric held on tight, mindless of the mixture of sweat and semen squishing between their bellies, and desperately wished he could come again as the image of Hawke’s ball emptying their seed into his body rose before his mind’s eye. 

Hawke’s arms came around his back and drew him even closer. Varric smiled as a deep, contented exhale ruffled the damp hair on his temple. Then Hawke shifted a little, allowing his cock to slide out. It left Varric with a strange feeling of emptiness that was quickly followed by the oddly exciting sensation of Hawke’s quickly cooling come trickling out of his stretched hole and further down along his balls. Varric couldn’t contain the wistful sigh as, despite his exhaustion, his cock gave an appreciative little twitch. Then he felt Hawke’s chuckle reverberate through both their bodies and furrowed his brow. At least he tried to, as far as that was possible in a state where he felt like his bones were made of liquid honey and his brain was shrouded in a deeply sated fuzz. 

One nagging thought wouldn't leave him alone, though.

“Hawke—,” he started, with every intention of telling him what he thought of sneaky sneaks who won bets with their best friends by being sneaky. But he was interrupted by an unexpectedly gentle kiss on the top of his head.

“I love you too, Varric.”

“That’s not what I was going to say,” he grumbled.

Hawke smirked. “I know. I’m not wrong, though.”

Varric paused for a moment, then he heaved a deep sigh and snuggled a little closer to his impossible lover/best friend. “No. You’re not wrong.”


End file.
